Love Like a Bullet
by JustWordsx
Summary: When John Watson gets a letter in the mail, he never thought that his life would be changed so drastically.


_Hello, and welcome to this story._

_This account is a shared account with partner stories and chapters which both of us write._

_By both, I mean, C & S. Two different people, same publishing._

_Oh, this is S, by the way, editing at the moment. Every work of ours is made using our ideas only, and this chapter switches to John POV to Sherlock's, which I think will happen in every chapter.._

_Enjoy!_

_**xS**_

**Disclaimer: All characters and anything related to Sherlock and Sherlock Holmes is owned by BBC/ACD.**

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The quiet morning was one that John Watson had been looking forward to. He finally had some time off after finishing his medical degree in the fall term. He needed this day. Exams had just ended and he had finally received his medical license. It was a day that John could, and should, celebrate.

He found himself falling asleep as he lay on his familiar couch. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful. He heard footsteps to his door and half-expected a certain gangly university student to come barreling through the door, raving about some experiment while a mad grin was plastered across his face, but it was only the mailman. He let out a sigh and shook his head, grinning to himself, as he stood. He checked over the mail -bill, another bill, admail- and then stopped at a peculiar looking envelope. It was no surprise to John to see a scarlet sealed letter, the color a bit faded and yellow. It gave off an air of importance. The logo on the front was the undeniable label of the RAMC, something John was used to seeing since he was a small boy. The insignia was donned in every house he had lived in while growing up. It made sense because his father was an army man.

Yes, John had applied to the army. He had done it in secret. He hadn't thought about it when he had first done it, it seemed like the logical next step in his career. He was only following what he had been taught since childhood. The army held a significant presence in his life, and, as a little boy, he liked the idea of following in his father's footsteps. That ideology followed him through his teen years and eventually to make the choice to become a doctor. Soon that idea molded into becoming an army doctor, fulfilling his dreams and making his father's name all at once.

His eyes still trained on the letter, he searched around for a letter opener, finally finding one in his side drawer. An item so proper should be opened properly, after all. With shaking hands, John carefully opened the envelope, making sure not to destroy any of the contents. He pulled the folded paper out and read the letter. He had to read it over twice to understand what was being said. The first time he had just scarcely skimmed it over with barely contained excitement, only catching some of the words. It was mainly key information. He withdrew a ragged breath and squeezed his eyes closed for a brief moment, then opened them to reread the confirming words. Upon rereading the letter, he felt a wave of guilt settling in his stomach. He knew it was irrational, but he felt a sudden urge to tell someone, anyone, about his news. He dropped the letter on the table and placed his head in his hands and elbows balanced on his knees. He let out a breath. He knew he had to tell someone, whether he liked it or not, and whether the other liked it or not. He couldn't keep this to himself. More people than just his mother would be angry at him, but John just wanted support from them. He knew it would be hard for them to understand; hell, he was going somewhere where people had to fight to the death. It wasn't as if John didn't know that. He was all too familiar with the concept of death and the military. After all, that's what he signed up for, isn't it?

He looked up from his hands, eyes fluttering open as he shimmied his phone out of his denim jeans pocket. He stared blankly at it for a moment before sighing, the sound coming out rather childish. He shrugged and tapped on the screen with newly found confidence. The only one who he could think about telling was Sherlock. John trusted him with many things, so how could this be any different? Sliding the mobile open, he hurriedly typed, not stopping for hesitation to set in, and sent a short, to the point, message with no forced sugar on top.

_I enlisted for the army. -JW_

His heart pounded with undisguisable nervousness, very sure that Sherlock was not going to reply right away. Knowing the black-haired hurricane, he would storm into the flat with a clear, familiar look of menace and demand answers from John, because sod greetings, Sherlock was too high and mighty for that. His mind ceased the thoughts and pushed them somewhere far away, his eyes opening, and his lips pushing out a scoff of amusement. He was getting a tad bit ridiculous. Sherlock wasn't going to be like that, in fact, a small part of John reasoned that Sherlock would take it nicely, calm and collected and topped off with a nod of approval. Honestly, though, who knows, it's Sherlock.

John exhaled, trying to be calm. The clock reminded him that minutes were ticking by. Every second felt as if it was a painful year, and, for God's sake, John thought he could see a film of dust cover the envelope of the letter he had just opened. He was quickly brought back to the acknowledgement that his phone existed, though, remembering that he wanted a reply. It was as though his wish was granted. His phone gave off a soft chime, indicating that a certain someone had sent a message back. His eyes darted to his mobile quickly, feeling both relief and a sort of nervousness as he reached to pick it up and check it. He felt less worried now, seeing that he got a reply, but in the back of his mind, worry niggled on his nerves. Eyes darting over the blue light of his phone screen, he slid it open and studied the message, his stance ready for any insult, any form of verbal abuse the younger could hurl at him.

**I'm coming over. SH**

Better than nothing, right?

* * *

A rather angry looking man stomped out of a classroom, muttering to himself about the insufferable nutter he was forced to work with. A second, rather smug looking student was sitting at the desk with a strange, but usual smirk on his face. He shook his head and his dark curls bounced with it. He leaned back over the experiment he was currently working on and started to take notes, quickly forgetting the argument. This was his sanctuary, the one place he felt safe and secure. It wasn't his fault if other people, idiots, he liked to label them as, couldn't deal with his intellect. It was what made him comfortable. Well, that was a lie. There was one other place he would want to be if he weren't in the lab, and it's current owner, the reason why he went there at all, was busy having a day off. Boring, he thought to himself as he worked.

Sherlock Holmes didn't find many people he got along with, rather, many people who would be willing to put up with his constant put downs, but there was one person. John Watson was the only person, besides relatives (but they hardly counted), who could deal with him. The thought of his best, and only, friend brought a smile to his face. It was a rarely seen occurrence on the student's face and most people didn't have the pleasure of seeing the uplifting of the young man's lips. He rather enjoyed spending time with the recent graduate, though, to his disappointment, he knew it would not last too much longer. He wanted to hold onto the few moments he had left with him, as he knew that John would go and find a job somewhere where he could flaunt his medical expertise. The thought quickly erased the smile and he quickly lost himself once more in the experiment. He knew that John had more priorities than just Sherlock, but that didn't stop him from feeling a little left out.

His concentration was broken some time later when his phone decided to chime rather loudly. He ignored it and focused back on the reaction going on in front of him. He didn't appreciate disturbances. However, the peace and quiet did not last for long. Soon enough, his phone went off again, reminding him that he had a message and he let out a sigh. Sitting back, he fished his phone out of his pocket, then checked the message. Any semblance of happiness at seeing who the message was from was quickly replaced by a deadly calm demeanor. He threw his phone onto the lab bench rather forcefully and decided to forget the message. It didn't work. His concentration was broken. The words that he had read haunted him, a nightmare transferred into reality. After a few more futile tries to distract himself, he gave up and tossed the slide into the waste bin. It was no use trying to focus when this bomb was dropped on him. A small part of his brain was telling him that he was overreacting, but he didn't care, he had a right to. Instead, he just picked his phone back up and sent a quick message.

**I'm coming over. SH**

He pocketed his phone and left the lab. He walked with quick, but sure, steps, very intent on their destination.

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_I hope you enjoyed, and if you have any suggestions writing-wise, go ahead! Reviews are much appreciated!_

_-C&S_


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